


to thine own self be true

by bubblewrapstargirl



Category: Merlin (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Merlin Fusion, Bottom Castiel/Top Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester is Ben Braeden's Parent, Dean is So Done, Dean loves Cas more than anything or anyone, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, M/M, Multi, Pagan Gods, Paganism, Polygamy, Priest Castiel, mentions of mpreg
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-05
Updated: 2016-10-10
Packaged: 2018-08-19 18:02:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8220049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bubblewrapstargirl/pseuds/bubblewrapstargirl
Summary: King Dean of Winchester has a mammoth task ahead of him; securing his storm-devastated Kingdom before winter comes. Juggling the wants of his three wives, the love of his life, Castiel, and his brothers and children, is not going to be easy. There are threats at every turn, hoping to take advantage of the weakened state of his land, and not all of them come from outside of the castle...(Dean's relationship with his wives is implied but never explicit. It will be explicit with Cas though.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This above all: to thine own self be true,  
> And it must follow, as the night the day,  
> Thou canst not then be false to any man.  
> Farewell, my blessing season this in thee!

The deluge had lasted for five straight days. Water, pouring from the skies at all times, day and night; light drizzle preceded by heavy droplets, that smattered on the buildings like the furious slams of fists. The gods were displeased, but truthfully, Dean could think of no reason why. They had sacrificed the standard animals at summer solstice, of the usual high standard he thought. The King inspected every animal personally before a sacrifice, and always consulted with trusted advisors and favoured priest as to the nature of each blessing or supplication. Dean was a devout man. Winchester was the largest of the Five Kingdoms, but the only one whose patron god was Death himself. For this reason, sacrifices were plentiful, for their god was a hungry one. Of the pantheon worshiped across the Five Kingdoms, Dean had only ever personally met Chuck, the Great King of the Gods, Kali, the Goddess of Destruction, and Death, who visited during every eclipse. Of the three, Death was the only one who inspired both fear and respect from the young King. He had never felt the need to rail against their patron, like so many in the other Kingdoms; there was no point. Death was not to be trifled with.

Which was why the flood was unprecedented. Why was Death displeased with them? After the first full day of rain, Dean’s bedraggled subjects began to arrive, begging for sanctuary. The great Lawrence Castle was the most sprawling, well-armoured fortress in Dean’s kingdom, and co-incidentally the place he had been born. Dean had made it the homestead of his power after his father’s death. It had not been a popular decree within his court, particularly his wives, who hated the large, gloomy corridors, shadowy stairwells and draughty rooms. They would have preferred to remain at the showy Coldoak Castle, constructed many years later, better insulated and extremely grand. But Dean had always been adverse to ostentation, a man of simple tastes. He liked rich food, strong ale, a thick mattress and a hot fire. If he could have spent his days riding his beloved mare, Baby, through the grasslands, hunting and eating his kills with his favoured knights, he would have. But those were the days of his princely youth, and such times were few and far between now. Dean considered himself a responsible and just King, and let the rash, carefree man he had been fall by the wayside. He consulted with his learned advisors, paid close attention to his so-called allies, and listened to the requests of his people. The flood was worrying, but there was little he could feasibly do, save for letting his people in and giving them shelter. The mass migration did not subside; as the days went on the tales of destruction grew worse, the losses more devastating. The harvest was swamped; the grasslands saturated, farms washed clean away. The grain stores at the Keep might be plentiful, but they had not anticipated such total annihilation of the only fertile land in his large, mostly mountainous kingdom. Dean’s people were going to starve.

On the fifth day, the rain finally abated, and he rode out with his knights to survey the damage. On the plateau of the nearest peak, Dean confirmed his own suspicions. The forest had been battered, colossal, ancient trees uprooted and sprawled in the valley, half-chocked by a new bog, which had been formed by the sodden earth. Animal carcasses were strewn across the wreckage; unfortunate creatures caught in the wrath of the storm. The grasslands of the south were unrecognisable; where once there had been rich fields of corn, wheat and rye, there was now only torn earth and puddles. Dean staggered from the saddle, sinking to his knees. His kingdom was in ruins.

“Sire?” a hesitant voice called.

The other knights hung back out of respect, their own horror choking their throats. They all knew what such a loss would mean for the kingdom, and perhaps their own families.

Dean felt a warm hand settle on his shoulder, a reassuring squeeze. Naturally, it was Sam. Only his own brother knew he would be safe from Dean’s famous temper at such a turbulent moment.

Eventually, Dean turned his blurred gaze to his brother, crouched beside him. Sam’s eyes were wet, but it was the fear there that gave Dean the strength to stand and address his men, every inch the warrior. He ordered them to return to the castle, sparing a moment to nod his thanks to Sam, who gave him a wan smile in return as they spurred their steeds toward home.

\--

The courtyard was filled with the bustle of anxious subjects, the common folk, clutching the meagre belongings they had managed to protect from the rage of the water. Dean had ordered his squire, Kevin, to make a note of each and every person that arrived, their name and the former location of their home. Now was the perfect time for his enemies to infiltrate his home, or his fickle courtiers to press the advantage of his distraction. He could not afford to be sloppy. All the physicians Dean could find mingled amongst them, offering assistance to his bedraggled, traumatised subjects.

Amongst them was Castiel, the kingdom’s High Priest and Dean’s closest friend. He was extremely skilled in sorcery, and healed the most severe ailments to the best of his abilities. When he saw Dean arrive, he made his way to his King’s side, desperate to provide comfort, but tempered by his knowledge of how Dean would perceive any insinuation of weakness right now. Castiel waited for Dean to instigate the conversation, but the other man was ignoring him in favour of passing his beautiful mare into the care of her groom.

“Dean-” He attempted to ask after the state of the land, but Dean stalled him with an abrupt hand.

“Not now, Cas.” Dean barked, clipped and tense. “I’m calling an emergency meeting of the full court and Grand Council in one hour.”

There were new patients arriving every moment, and Castiel immediately wanted to protest at his attendance.

“If you’re about to tell me you won’t be there, I will personally drag you to the Great Hall by your gods-damned hair, Cas.”

Castiel clamped his lips together to stop himself from saying something he regretted. Gods above knew he loved Dean more than anything; but the man was stubborn as a mule and when he was serious, nothing could sway him. If he wanted Castiel at this meeting, Dean wouldn’t stop short at throwing him over his own shoulder to achieve it, kingly decorum be damned.

Knowing protests were useless, he nodded solemnly, and watched in worry as Dean stomped up the thick stone steps into the main belly of the castle.

\--

The court assembled quickly, the usual fretting over clothing and posturing absent in the face of Dean’s ire. He shifted on his throne in impatience as the Council assembled. His wives shimmered in delicate rustles of lace, velvet and silk, seated in their own thrones. Dean knew they resented the dim, torch-lit chamber which did little to highlight their beauty. There was not much that united them, but their distaste for the Keep was a unifying one.

Even after all these years, Lisa still complained that the draughts would cause illness, Lydia resented the distance from her sisters, and even Tessa, his first and most steadfast wife, disliked the huge sprawling size of the Castle. But she sat beside him, and offered her usual sympathetic, supportive smile. Recently, there wasn’t a day that went by that Dean wished he could have married just Tessa, and never had to take another wife. But the scandal his father had caused in marrying only one wife, and refusing to take another after her death, was not easily forgotten.

It had been a bureaucratic nightmare for Dean, trying to find a place for his illegitimate siblings, Kristie-Anne and Adam, after his father’s death. Krissy had been easy enough to marry off, once she came of age, but there were advisors that still made veiled suggestions that Dean should have Adam assassinated. They’d even insinuated that Adam’s continued presence at court had angered the gods, and resulted in the flood. Which was of course ridiculous, because Dean had been King for almost a decade, during which Adam had resided in the Keep - and this was the first flood of such terror. No, superstition would get them nowhere.

There were many days in the past Dean had enjoyed Lisa’s company. But in the past few years, she had grown insecure over her inability to provide him with another child. It made her waspish and irritable. Lydia, who had always been cool and aloof, had been a political match. Dean needed to secure the rebellious lands in the western outskirts of his kingdom, which bordered on the kingdom of Mercia. Apparently, marrying his bastard sister to a Baron of Mercia hadn’t been enough to convince them of his lack of interest in conquering them. So he’d entertained a retinue of westerland ladies and eventually settled on Lydia. The sex was fantastic, but she wanted little to do with him outside the bedroom. She spent most of her time with their daughter, and Dean couldn’t really fault her for that.

Political, official meetings were always a chore. His wives resented one another, his courtiers were petty and his advisors blood-thirsty. There were times when Dean wanted to be as immovable as his father, but deep down, that was not the way he wanted to be remembered. His righteous reputation had been hard-won, and he had no intention of losing it.

It was difficult to keep his worries in check as the proceedings got underway. Garth, the court genealogist and scribe, opened the session with his usual waffle, announcing who had called the meeting and why, with great flourish. Dean attempted to keep a lid on his temper, but he was too worried to hide the tension in his jaw. He caught Garth’s eye and the younger man gave a squeak, quickly wrapping it up and taking his seat, clutching his parchment with a nervous wobble.

“I cannot over-emphasise the destruction that the storm has brought to these lands. We are in dire need of solutions to our lack of sustenance. There will be little to no harvest this year.” Dean began, careful to be honest yet calm.

Murmurs of discontent immediately began. Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw Tessa clutch at the arms of her throne, her hands pale against the dark wood.

“For this reason, we will make sacrifices to the goddess Rowena, for forgiveness.”

Rowena was the goddess of water, a spiteful and cruel mistress, and was not often appealed to anywhere in the Five Kingdoms. The murmurs grew in volume. They offered one blessing to Rowena per season, and it did not involve sacrifice. This was unprecedented, and the people were scared.

Dean was not surprised when Bobby stepped forward. One of his most trusted advisors, Lord Bobby always strove to find compromise, but he was ruthless during times of war.

“Forgive me, sire, but to what end?” Bobby asked.

Dean chose this moment to stand, stepping away from his throne. He needed his people to see him, and be seen.

“We are going to dredge the river. All the men and women who tilled the fields; nay, any able bodied person who can work, will be set to work. Cutting the edible weeds free, and catching the fish. They will fish till three rooms in the grain stores are full.” Dean didn’t give anyone chance to object; though he knew the courtiers would be horrified. They usually took around five sacks of fish per annum. But this intense hunting would strip the river bare, and Rowena would be furious.

“Sir Aaron?” Dean called, and as expected, his dutiful knight came forth and knelt to receive orders. “You will oversee this. I want those grain rooms filled with salted and smoked fish before the first leaves turn gold. Do you accept?”

“You wish is my command, sire. I will not fail you.” Aaron vowed, clenching his right fist before his heart, before standing and re-joining the crowd.

“Majesty,” Lord Gordon, a particularly war-mongering advisor stepped forward. “What nature of sacrifice shall we offer to the river goddess? Meat, poultry - these things did not stop the storm before catastrophe. Perhaps it is time we offered a more sentient beast.”

Dean struggled to quell the fury that rose from his belly. How dare Gordon bring up such a foul deed in open court? Human sacrifice had been banned from the Five Kingdoms for hundreds of years. But at this point, he knew his more traditional courtiers would be open to such vile things. The stench of desperation was strong, and Gordon already looked as though he were sure of his victory.

The King’s eyes flickered across the courtroom. Fearful faces stared back at him; a shuffle took his attention, and he watched Sam shove Adam behind him, his hand not-so-subtly resting on the pommel of his sword.

But Dean refused to allow the day to descend into violence. There was too little time left before thorny winter arrived. They needed to pull together.

“Cas?” He called, then waited for Castiel to emerge from his customary position behind the right hand side of Dean’s throne. His wives bristled, but Dean ignored them. He was used to their quiet bitterness toward his closest friend. It was not easy to hide his affection toward Cas, and most of time Dean did not bother.

Castiel came to stand before him, awaiting his questions with a mixture of confidence and confusion.

“Of all in the kingdom of Winchester, perhaps of all across the Five Kingdoms, you are closest to the gods. Do you think they will be appeased by the flesh of man?” Dean asked, struggling to keep the disgust out of his voice.

There was a sharp intake of breath; the court had gone deadly silent. Lord Bobby was looking at Dean as though he had lost his mind, and poor Lady Donna fainted.

“No, majesty.” Castiel’s voice was firm. “Human sacrifice has been banished in these lands for almost three-hundred years. If the gods had been displeased by this, they would have made their anger known long before now.”

Dean nodded, pleased by the decisive answer. “Thank you. Do you have a suggestion for what would please the goddess?”

“The Lady Rowena is a fickle goddess.” Castiel said, “But she is pleased by freedom and beauty. She could be appeased with an orgy, I believe.”

Dean sighed. Well, at least it was warm enough. Suddenly a bolt of inspiration hit him, like a surge of inspiration from Chuck himself.

“So shall it be.” The king said quickly, distracted by his brilliant idea, and Castiel respectfully departed, back to the shadows.

“Sir Benjamin, Lord Adam, come forth.” He ordered. Sam glared at him, but Dean merely glared right back, until his younger brother relented, and allowed their half-sibling to approach the throne.

Sir Benjamin, usually called Benny by everyone, looked bewildered to be called on, and Dean was not in the least surprised. Benny was the Captain of the Guard, and oversaw the castle’s defences. The outside realm was not his concern, save for assuming that any newcomers were enemies. He was fiercely loyal to Dean, and the death of his wife some three winters past, had only made him more dedicated to his job. He looked worried that Dean might suddenly decide to strip him of his title and send him off to oversee some other task in a far-flung corner of the kingdom. Dean resisted the urge to wink at him in solidarity. The whole court was watching, and this was no laughing matter.

Adam and Benny knelt before him, awkwardly. Dean wondered if they’d ever even spoken to one another, before now, let alone been called up to him at the same time. Curious mumblings rippled through the court again. It was not usual for Dean to make so many announcements at once, and certainly not in open court. He usually argued policy back and forth with his advisors before issuing official decrees.

When they were both settled before him on the richly woven rug that attempted to make the icy stone of Lawrence Castle bearable to kneel on, Dean spoke.

“Sir Benjamin, you have served me faithfully throughout many turbulent years. I have entrusted you with safety of my subjects and my closest kin. You have never let me down.”

“Thank you sire,” Benny muttered, blushing something fierce. He was not a man who liked to be the centre of attention.

“I have decided to entrust you with another charge. Do you accept the care of my natural brother, Adam?”

“I will do as you bid me, majesty.” Benny swallowed, thickly. It was obvious he believed Dean wanted to appoint him his brother’s personal guard.

“Good.” Dean grinned. Sam, however, had apparently lost all patience, and his decorum with it.

“Forgive me, sire.” he interrupted, though he clearly didn’t care one whit for Dean’s forgiveness, “Do you intend to send Adam to another kingdom?”

“Gods above, no.” Dean laughed, turning his gaze back to his fidgeting, youngest brother. “I am giving Lord Adam’s hand in marriage to Sir Benjamin. We shall have a hand-fasting in the Little Forest in a sennight, offering our newlyweds as supplication to Rowena, and let the festivities run on into the night, as in the days of yore.”

There was a long, stony silence. Sam was attempting to burn Dean’s face off with his glare, and Benny was openly gaping at him, but Adam’s face had gone slack with relief. Clearly, he thought he’d been about to be shuffled off to warm the bed of some pompus git in Caerleon, or maybe even Camelot, the richest and most rigid of the Five Kingdoms.

“Do you accept, Sir Benjamin?”

“I- I- forgive me, sire. But are you quite sure?” Benny asked, obviously mortified to be handed the son of a King, even an illegitimate son, with so little ceremony.

“I am entirely sure. There is no man than deserves a loving wife more than you, Benny. And Adam is quite overdue a good match, I think.”

Apparently, Sam was no longer aware of where they were, because he stomped forward, his face an unattractive mix of crimson-puce in his fury.

“Dean!” he yelled, but that was as far as Sam got, because Dean drew himself up to his full height and bellowed;

“Prince Samuel, you will know your place!”

The words echoed off the stone walls, shockingly harsh in the still air. All trace of joviality had dropped from Dean’s features; he was a fury, righteous and bold, and for a long moment no one even dared to breathe.

“Lords and ladies of Winchester, you will hear me. This wedding will take place _in a sennight_. There will be celebrations, and there will be supplications to Rowena. Lady Jody, you are charged with the wedding preparations. Beginning today, we shall gather supplies and search for stranded subjects amongst the wreckage of the forest. Prince Samuel, you will personally lead this search. All game that is fit to eat will be gathered, prepared and stored in the usual way. This is no trifling matter. Winter is nipping at our heels, and there is no time for dissension. I will not abide it.”

Sam, properly chastised, bowed his head in agreement, but he did not kneel, nor did he fist his hand to his heart, as Benny and Adam did before they took their leave.

Dean cleared his throat, and attempted to shake off some of his ire. “I want an envoy sent to Camelot. We need grain, seeds and other supplies. Sir Rufus, I want you to consult with Kevin, and Garth, find out what we need, and then report back to me with a list. I will give you two days.”

The aging knight smiled and nodded. He was a grouch by nature, but he had served the kingdom for longer than Dean had been alive, and he had aged well. Few knights could best him in fair combat.

“How many men will you need?”

Rufus took a moment to consider his answer. He was not a man who appreciated being rushed.

“Twelve, your majesty, and at least four need to be knights. Camelot is not close, and we’d need to skirt the edge of the Perilous Lands.”

“I give you leave to pick your own men, from those I have not already tasked with duties. I will also need a list of what we have to trade, that will not weigh down the procession overmuch.”

“Yes, sire,” Rufus nodded, but Dean prevented him from stepping away.

“Hold a moment.”

Mulling over what he was about to say, Dean took a minute to consider his wives. Tessa was watching him keenly, a small smile on her lips; she was pleased with the proceedings. Lisa was worried, her gaze flicking about the room. She feared for her son, excessively so, now it seemed like Ben was the only one she would ever have. Lydia met his eyes boldly; cool and assured. She didn’t seem tense, but nor did she seem proud of him. A swift regret washed over him, and Dean wished he understood her better.

He returned his gaze to Rufus, who was waiting patiently.

“Sir Rufus, as you know, High King Arthur has many children.” Dean began, more for the ceremony of it than anything else.

High King Arthur of Camelot scandalously had one single wife, his court sorcerer, Merlin. Queen Merlin was an outspoken young man, and apparently very fecund, as he churned out a new babe for Arthur at least once a year.

“I have lost count of the number of babes, your majesty. High King Arthur is very blessed.” Rufus confirmed.

“If Arthur is not moved by our plight or interested in our trade, it is my wish that you offer the hand of my only daughter, Emma, to one of his sons.”

“No!” Queen Lydia yelped, “Sire, please, she is but a child!”

Dean sighed, but he carried on as though his third wife had not spoken.

“Aim for the eldest, Mordred, whom I know to be of a compassionate nature. But if the boy proves reckless or is already betrothed, another will do. We cannot afford to be without the High King’s support this winter.”

After Rufus swore to it, Dean finally returned to his throne. His Kingdom was in shambles, and there was much work to be done. He could not afford to be swayed by sentiment.


	2. Chapter 2

It was a long afternoon hearing supplications from his weary people, but Dean forced himself to remain alert and listen to their woeful tales. A noble King did not shirk his duties because they were unpleasant, and he was no craven. He listened to the gory details and tried to find solutions. Lord Bobby was the best at devising alternative answers, and Dean relied heavily on his counsel.

Queen Lydia had stormed from the room when Dean refused to be led into another conversation about Emma’s impending nuptials. Dean wasn’t an idiot. He bid Queen Lisa to follow her and rope Lydia into assisting her in making an assessment of all the linens and other practical resources that could be spared. Many commoners had fled their homes with no other supplies, than those they could carry in their arms. This way Lydia would have less time to brood. Dean had noticed she had a particular empathy for orphans and assaulted women. He believed activity settled the mind, and he hoped it would give Lydia some measure of satisfaction to allocate spare goods to the needy.

Dean invited his subjects to bring their complaints before the crown several times a sennight, to afford his people chance to have their issues addressed. So he was not unaccustomed to settling disputes. Usually, his people were in need of medical aid, positions for their children who were showing skills which could not be nurtured in their home village, or seeking permission to marry. Now, they were all worried about food, lost property or injuries from the storm. While the guards were dealing with the majority of issues, some people had valuable reports that Dean needed to hear directly. One village had lost its only path through the forest due to a landslide; another had been destroyed completely. Some peasants reported seeing others stranded in the eastern cliffs of Sioux Falls. And there was a whole troop of children from all ends of the kingdom, who had lost both of their parents. Dean entrusted the orphans with no other relatives to Cas. He was gentle with children, and the severely injured. He would find them good homes.

\--

Eventually, there was no more that could be accomplished. Dean retired to his chambers, exhausted. He took a bath, allowing the hot, citrus-scented water to sooth his aches. An old jousting injury in his left shoulder bothered him, whenever it grew chilly and rained. It had been throbbing angrily for days. Dean had allowed Cas to massage it each night of the storm, but the flames in his joint were not easily assuaged.

He thought back on that particular injury; as a seasoned warrior, naturally Dean had many. The dislocation of his shoulder had been a particularly painful one though, white-hot and nauseating. Healers had fluttered around him, too timid to be rough with the then-Prince, frightened of injuring him further. King John was not known for being reasonable in the face of insult or worry. In the end, it was Sam who had rushed to his side. Quickly evaluating the situation, knowing that Dean might lose all use of his left arm if they dallied, he hand-forced the joint back into place himself. Remembering the fearful determination on his little brother’s face, Dean felt a twinge of guilt for the public rebuttal. He knew Sam loved him dearly. He knew it down to his bones, that Sam had always supported him.

Dean had never feared that Sam would attempt to usurp his rule. He had relied on his brother many times, as they fought side by side. But Sam was not wise; he was rash and headstrong and loved too fiercely. He did not share the responsibilities that Dean had always been burdened with, and so he threw himself into situations with little thought of the consequences. Dean had hoped that Sam had begun to settle, mature somewhat, but today’s actions showed otherwise. A King could take counsel, and ask for expertise, but he could not be seen to bend to the demands of others, without strong justification.

Royal marriages were often arranged, and it was not a policy Dean disagreed with. His father had arranged Dean’s first two marriages, and Sam's first also. John had considered their preferences, their outlooks and values, and found them suitable partners. Dean valued Tessa and Lisa, admired their strengths and enjoyed their company. Queen Lisa was very humorous, and a talented dancer. She kept the court happy with her lively manner, and could be relied upon to make visiting dignitaries feel welcome. Queen Tessa was reserved but well-read, with a quiet, elegant intelligence. She retained knowledge as a seasoned scholar; she knew who would exhibit what behaviour under what circumstances, and where their loyalties truly lay. During campaigns she was the only woman to sit on the Battle Council, and she would tolerate no arrogance. Tessa would not lie to Dean to save his pride, but she was tactful. She never disagreed with him in public; never, not even once.

If only Sam could learn from her discreet, confident methods of persuasion. But Dean would not be dissuaded in this matter. Prince Mordred was the eldest son of King Arthur and his Queen, born in secret and out of wedlock. By all accounts he was a humble, reserved Knight, kind to commoners and skilled with the sword and bow. Mordred had been legitimised when his father was coroneted, and his parents could finally marry. (Uther probably spun in his grave, and howled from beyond the veil. But King Arthur had married for love, and cared little for anyone’s opinion of it, least of all his dead father.) Dean admired Arthur greatly, but also knew that arranged marriages could go very well, when entered with honest expectations and understanding of character. Mordred would be crowned as Arthur’s heir when he came of age, and be an excellent match for Emma. She could be impetuous and bold; she needed a man who would match her for courage, but stabilise her with his more serene nature.

Sam’s objection to Dean’s idea of a match was hypocritical; he had loved Jessica dearly, and yet she had never come to his attention until John pointed her out. When she died of a fever, Sam had been inconsolable. He had yet to take another wife, and there had been whispers of the same folly in him that was in the late King John.

Dean knew he was long overdue a frank conversation with his brother. But matters of state always seemed to take precedence during the day, and Sam could never be found come nightfall. He spent his nights in extra training, sweating out his grief, which he thought no one knew. But the castle had many eyes, and nothing remained secret for long. This was why Dean never chose to conceal his feelings for Cas. Lies were more insidious than a little gossip, and would do his good opinion no credence.

If Cas had been a carrier like Adam, and able to bare him children, Dean would have married him long ago. In their youth, he had tried to persuade Cas to marry him regardless; so there would be one wife that could not provide him with heirs, what of it? But Cas cared more for Dean’s reputation than the King himself, and always shut him out whenever Dean raised the subject of marriage, even now, when Dean already had five children.

“A King may bed whoever he likes, and besting another man brings only tales of your virility. You are a conqueror, even within your own castle. The people will accept this, and praise you for it. But for a King to place a man before legal wives who can provide him heirs? It would be scornful, and you know it.” Cas said, plainly and without self-pity.

“I don’t care!” Dean would rage, agitated and restless with it. “I want you to walk at my side. Can’t I have this one thing for myself?”

But Cas was ever unmoved. “You already have me. What more could a throne give me? Do you not love me?”

“You know I do,” Dean always assured him, insulted to have his devotion questioned.

“Then I have everything I need.” Cas would say, firm as stone, and they would cover no more ground. It was an ceaseless, circular battle, and it had no end.

“I will not let anyone laugh at you. You are my King; I will not see you humiliated.” Cas would declare, infuriatingly steadfast.

Then Dean would kiss his lover until his jaw unclenched, and Cas was once more soft and pliable in his arms. They would sweat out their frustrations on the fur-covered bed, or the pelt by the fire, or, one memorable time, against the tapestry in the Great Hall. The disagreement would settle by the wayside again, until Dean again looked to his right side and longed to see four thrones instead of three.

\--

When he had washed away the stresses of the day as best he was able, Dean dressed for dinner and requested his daughter. He often ate in his chambers alone after stressful days, unable to stand the chatter of his exuberant children, or the sympathy of his wives. Sam often pestered him to unburden his feelings, and Adam sometimes looked scared of him, as though Dean might one day renounce him. Sometimes, he needed time for himself. Cas occasionally joined him, uninvited, and of them all, he was the only one who could sit in silence, and give Dean what he needed in looks and gentle touches alone. Cas never pushed him too far, and Dean wished he could curl up with him now, settle his head on Cas’ chest and listen to him read aloud from one of his books of magic. But he knew he must speak to Emma, alone, and not indulge himself because he was fearful for his kingdom. Now was the time to be brave, and sure, and steadfast.

After an awkward dinner of meat soup, during which they both pretended that Emma did not yet know why she had been called to his rooms, Dean explained his intentions. Fortunately Prince Mordred had requested permission for a visit to Winchester, to learn the ways of the mountain folk, a few summers past. Dean allowed it, so they had met before. Mordred was sweet the way Garth was sweet; seemingly without guile or the ability to even attempt subterfuge. He was a well-trained knight, as all of Camelot’s knights were, gracious and orderly. He had considerable magical skill too, though he did not use it often. Dean formed the impression he was shy about his abilities.

Dean reminded Emma of how she had liked to practice her archery with Mordred, and how he was a bashful dancer, but attentive and polite. He was glad when Emma seemed encouraged by the reminders. She even laughed out loud, recalling how mortified Mordred had been, when he stepped on Lady Donna’s toes. Dean had never been more grateful that he had ignored his distrustful advisors, and happily complied with Mordred’s request to visit. Dean believed only way to ensure peace was to share knowledge, and encourage travel between Kingdoms. Winchester was on good terms with Camelot, and indeed his own son had travelled there in return. Ben had set out to find glory and quests to fulfil, and had sent many a letter of his adventures along the way. He was currently in the Kingdom of Essetir, which was why Lisa was beside herself with worry. No matter how many people reminded her that King Lot had died over a year ago, and King Gwaine was not the kind to execute strangers and mount their heads on his walls, she was convinced he would come to harm there. But Dean was sure of his son’s judgement, just as he was sure of his own.

  
Thankfully Mordred was handsome, though not overly tall, and not ancient. He was easy to admire. Emma did not press Dean with questions, but sat demurely before him. She was a dutiful daughter, and Dean knew she would not outright object, but he also knew she was frightened. Of course she was; at fourteen, she was still so young, and Dean sympathised completely. He had been sixteen when he married Tessa. He knew how daunting it was, to be suddenly thrust into matrimony with a virtual stranger. But they all had their duties, and Emma would have to marry eventually. Right now, Dean needed to protect all his people, and marriage was the only real method to secure treaties.

“If Arthur agrees, you will not be alone. Take however many of your friends you wish, to be your attending ladies. I will send my best knights to protect you, including your Uncle Sam. And Lady Jody will take care of you all. Perhaps even Lady Donna too, if her husband can spare her. There will be a period of courtship, and with your young age, it will probably last two summers. And then you will be married. If you marry Mordred, you will be the Queen of Camelot someday. Would you like that?”

“Yes, Father.” Emma whispered, but her pale cheeks betrayed her. Dean reached across the side of his dining table to hold her delicate hand in his own.

“You know I would never match you with a cruel man, don’t you? I would ever allow anyone unworthy of you to take your hand.”

At this, her face settled, into a look of steely determination. “I know, Father. And I know I will be a great Queen, in Camelot or anywhere. Prince Mordred would be kind to me, I think.”

Prouder than he had words to express, Dean sent her to bed with a kiss on her brow, and assurances that her dresses and jewels would be the finest he could muster.

After she left, Dean sighed heavily, knowing the situation was never going to please everyone. Lydia relied heavily on Emma’s company. They had another child together, Lucas, but the babe was deaf and dumb, from an early illness. Dean had feared the babe would find no place in life, and naturally, he had been urged to leave little Lucas on the mountainside for the gods to claim. But Dean had been too soft; he could not part with the pitiful creature, though he would never bring glory to the kingdom.

He had given Lucas into Cas’ care, hoping someone skilled in magic would be able to teach him basic skills, knowing of Cas’ great compassion toward the weak. Lucas had thrived, and become a diminutive apprentice of sorts, often toddling after Cas with a tiny pouch of healing herbs slung over his shoulder. But Lydia had nothing to do with the child; she hailed from Mercia, where the weak were shunned. Dean knew she was ashamed of the child.

Dean wondered if this was where their estrangement had begun, but truthfully, he knew there was little love between him and Lydia. They had never truly warmed to one another, though she was affectionate with him in private. He wondered if she would ever forgive him if Emma went to live in Camelot. But there was little he could do. He needed Arthur’s support, and the bond of family was stronger than the trade of spices and wheat.

Too anxious to sleep, Dean pulled his boots back on, and made his way to Cas’ rooms. He didn’t bother trying to disguise his intentions either. The guards were well used to him trekking down the hall to Cas' chamber whenever he felt the need. And he needed the solace that only Cas’ warm bed could provide. Perhaps in his love’s arms, he would find some measure of peace for his turbulent mind.


End file.
